Five days had passed since the High Council's historic decision, yet the tension still lingered in the Gremory estate like smoke after a fire.
Whispers of the council's revelations still clung to the noble halls like cobwebs of old sins exposed. But Lucien didn't have time for politics today.
His real trial had only just begun.
Lucien had thrown himself into training with a single-minded intensity that surprised even his family. Power alone wouldn't be enough, he understood that now. He needed control. Precision. An unshakeable foundation no one could break.
⸻
The Ice of Discipline
The training grounds behind the Gremory estate were blanketed in frost.
"Again," Grayfia commanded, her voice was sharper than any blade. The air around them shimmered with glacial magic, sigils of ice crackling beneath their feet.
Lucien's muscles screamed in protest from the earlier drills. But hesitation had long since been beaten out of him. The barrier snapped into place, angular and exact, and instinct gave way to the grind of relentless repetition.
The air tasted of cold iron.
Grayfia struck without mercy.
A storm of ice, fire, and nullification magic designed to exploit every weakness. She circled him like a predator.
"Focus, you need control, not chaos." Each word struck with surgical precision. "A storm means nothing if it cannot be aimed."
Lucien's hands trembled as he reinforced his barriers, repeating the line silently. Grayfia's voice cut through the cold.
Two hours blurred into something timeless. Transmutation matrices. Teleportation anchors. Temporal stutters. Spells that twisted the laws of space and magic.
Lucien collapsed to one knee, chest heaving. His body begged for mercy, but his eyes burned with determination.
Grayfia noticed.
A brief nod, the barest crack in her icy mask.
He's not just surviving, she thought, a flicker of warmth in her frost. He's learning.
"You're improving," she admitted. Then softer, a hint of something almost… human. "But remember this war doesn't forgive mistakes. And neither will your enemies."
Neither will I, Lucien thought, not daring to speak it aloud.
She halted briefly, her hand resting briefly on her stomach… instinctive, unconscious. She dismissed it quickly, but a single glance passed between her and a nearby maid. A secret left unspoken.
⸻
The Flame of Legacy
Where Grayfia's training focused on precision and discipline, Venelana Gremory demanded passion and unrelenting fury.
The training courtyard blazed beneath the crimson sun, obsidian tiles radiating with heat. Venelana stood barefoot, her fingers wrapped in the red and black power destruction that hissed and writhed with primordial volatility.
"You carry our blood, Lucien," her voice carried like velvet over steel. "But blood must be earned. Show me you belong to it."
Lucien called forth his own Power of Destruction. It surged violently, threatening to devour him, but this time, he held it. This time, the power pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat. It no longer felt foreign. It felt like it had always been his.
He held it.
Venelana hurled a torrent of destruction.
Lucien didn't think he moved, and met her head-on. He quickly summoned a spherical barrier of matching crimson that erupted around him, crackling, then imploded outward, redirecting her assault and vaporising a line of enchanted practice dummies.
The power sang in his blood. Dangerous. Beautiful. His form of Destruction didn't flicker or snarl like hers; it pulsed rhythmically, like a living force choosing to obey.
Venelana's laughter rang out, unrestrained and wild.
"That's my grandson."
His pulse pounded. But it felt… right.
She eyed him carefully, lips curling. His control is deeper than mine was at his age. And that resonance… no, he's not just channelling our blood. He's evolving it.
⸻
Steel and Fire
By midday, Lucien's magic reserves were spent. He was barely running on fumes. His body ached as bruises bloomed beneath his skin. But his trials were far from done.
Souji Okita waited by the duelling ring with two wooden blades resting on his shoulder. A familiar, cruel smirk curved his face.
"Let's see if the heir can back up that fancy title," Souji grinned.
Lucien charged.
Wood met wood in a blur of movement. Souji moved like a whisper, parrying effortlessly. Every strike Lucien landed was turned aside, every advance countered. But with each clash, Lucien adapted. Faster. Sharper.
Souji made him dance.
Then the ground trembled.
Surtr's Second's heavy footfalls echoed as he stepped into the ring, firelight dancing along his horns and teeth-bared grin.
"You've had finesse," the flame giant rumbled. "Now let's test your force."
Lucien barely raised his guard before Surtr was upon him.
Each strike rattled his bones, jarring through muscle and marrow. A crack at his ribs sent a flash of pain through him, but Lucien gritted his teeth, refusing to fall. His bones felt like they'd splinter. So what. He moved anyway.
He blocked. He dodged. He took hits that would flatten most devils and kept moving.
Souji had made him dance. Surtr made him survive.
Grayfia had taught him control.
Venelana had shown him power.
But this…
This was what it meant to endure.
One final clash, and Lucien's training blade cracked down the centre, turning to ash in his grip.
No one went easy on him.
Because no one else would.
And that was exactly what he needed.
Deep inside Lucien, something began to stir.
It didn't feel like magic.
It felt like something watching from beneath his skin… patient, ancient, and waiting for his call.
⸻
Evening — Gremory Gardens
Under the falling petals of a sakura tree in full bloom, Koneko Toujou sat alone on a stone bench, small hands folded, gaze unreadable.
Lucien and Rias approached, exhaustion in every step, shadows of bruises beneath their clothes. Rias cradled a small cloth-wrapped bundle.
"You look like you got stomped by a dragon," Koneko said flatly, without looking up.
"Feels about right," Lucien muttered, rolling a sore shoulder.
Rias sat beside her and unwrapped the bundle of freshly baked cookies, still faintly warm. Koneko's nose twitched, betraying her.
"Thought you might want a snack," Rias said softly.
Koneko hesitated, then wordlessly took one a small, silent truce.
A soft hum, the smell of soil, and something older slipped into the spaces where neither of them spoke.
Rias broke it first, her voice soft. "Koneko… we need to talk. About your sister."
Koneko didn't move. But Lucien caught the slightest tightening of her fingers on the stone.
He took a breath, steady and sure.
"I know about the experiments," he said. "The sealed records. The orders that never should've been given. I know she didn't leave you. She shielded you. There's a photo… covered in blood. She's in front of you. Protecting you, not running."
He gently placed a file on the bench beside Koneko, a red-inked, system-stamped dossier with the Gremory seal. One she hadn't seen before.
She didn't touch the file immediately. Like she was scared it might burn her.
"She didn't abandon you," Lucien finished. "She saved you. And now… we're going to find her."
A long silence followed. The kind that knots your chest.
"…If you're wrong," Koneko whispered, "I'll never forgive you."
"I wouldn't expect you to," Lucien said quietly. "But if I'm right?"
She looked at him, then looked away.
"…Then she'll need someone to bring her back."
Lucien offered a faint, tired smile. "I already had someone in mind."
Koneko didn't reply.
But for the first time since she arrived at the Gremory estate, her eyes didn't look quite so alone.
⸻
Evening – Gremory Library
Exhausted but unbroken, Lucien sat with Rias in the vast Gremory Library. She had brought a stack of ancient tomes from the deepest restricted sections.
"You've been pushing yourself too hard," Rias said, placing a heavy volume in front of him. "But if you're going to do this, you need every advantage."
They pored over the texts together late into the night. Page after page of forgotten magic theory. Until they found it.
Rias's eyes widened as she read aloud:
"All living beings possess the potential to form a magic core. For supernatural races, the core is shaped by focusing upon that which one finds truly formidable: a concept, a force, a symbol of absolute strength. The maximum capacity of one's magical power is determined by the points allocated within their personal power matrix…"
Lucien stared at the page in stunned silence.
For a moment, the world seemed to narrow to a single point.
A magic core… not inherited. Not fixed. Chosen.
Not just power.
Identity.
"What you find formidable…" he murmured under his breath.
His mind moved quickly, racing through everything he had seen, everything he had endured.
Grayfia's absolute control.
His mother's overwhelming Destruction.
Souji's precision.
Surtr's raw, crushing force.
Different paths. Different philosophies.
Different kinds of strength.
His fingers tightened slightly against the edge of the table.
None of them fit completely.
Control without power was fragile.
Power without control was chaos.
Precision without endurance broke under pressure.
Endurance without direction meant nothing.
If a core was shaped by belief… then most devils were not limited by blood.
They were limited by perspective.
Rias looked at him, her expression shifting as she followed his thoughts. "Lucien… this means our ceiling isn't dictated by our bloodline alone."
He didn't respond immediately.
Because something deeper had already taken hold of his thoughts.
If power came from what he considered absolute…
Then what did he believe in?
Control?
Destruction?
Survival?
Or something beyond all of it?
For a fleeting moment, something cold brushed against the edge of his awareness.
Not ice.
Not magic.
Something darker. Older.
Watching.
Waiting.
Lucien blinked, and the sensation vanished.
"…This changes everything," Rias said quietly.
Lucien exhaled slowly, eyes still fixed on the page.
"No," he said, voice low, steady.
"It means everything up until now… was just the beginning."
The shadows behind him shifted.
Not cast by candlelight.
Not cast by anything in the room.
Just… there.
Watching.
Lucien didn't notice.
But something inside him did.
Lucien's thoughts were still turning when the heavy doors of the library swung open.
Grayroad emerged from the shadows, his form wrapped in shifting darkness.
"My lord," he said, bowing toward the doorway where Sirzechs had just entered. "We have urgent news."
Sirzechs' expression was grave. "Speak."
Grayroad's voice was low. "Kuroka Toujou is being actively hunted. Multiple factions have picked up her trail in the Hokubu Mountains. She is injured… and fighting for her life as we speak."
Lucien's blood ran cold.
Midnight — Maou War Room
In the heart of the Maou war chamber, a crystalline map hovered over an obsidian table, pulsing softly with arcane light.
Sirzechs rushed in and saw that Serafall's and Azazel's expressions were already grim, sharpened by urgency.
"There," Azazel pointed, tapping a flickering signature near the Hokubu Mountains. "She's masking her aura with Senjutsu. But it's not perfect. Fractures in the weave are signs of trauma."
Serafall frowned. "She's bleeding magic. If we wait too long."
"We won't," Sirzechs cut in, steel in his voice.
Azazel smirked. "I already have a team in position. No contact unless I call it. They're the good ones."
Serafall arched a brow. "Are you sure your good ones won't spook her?"
Azazel shrugged. "If they do, I'll fire them myself."
A flicker of grim amusement passed between them.
Then Serafall's gaze flicked toward Sirzechs, a more calculating light behind her grin. "If Lucien pulls this off… do you understand what that does to the board? A future heir with Gremory, Lucifuge, and possibly Nekomata bloodlines in his circle? Combined with certain other political marriages pending approval."
Sirzechs' lips twitched.
"I didn't raise a son to follow," he said quietly. "I raised one to lead."
And in that silent war room, illuminated by the flickering image of a hunted sister, the next move of a Crimson Prince was already set in motion.
Hokubu Mountains – Northern Territories
Snow whipped violently across jagged peaks.
A battered figure darted between trees, blood staining the white ground behind her.
Kuroka Toujou's golden eyes burned with defiance even as her body screamed in pain. Her black kimono was torn, with deep gashes across her side still bleeding. Her tail flicked erratically, Senjutsu flickering weakly around her.
Blood steamed against the snow with every step she took.
The scent of iron hung thick in the air.
Hunters didn't need sight to track prey like this.
Three elite hunters from a rogue noble house closed in, weapons glowing with lethal intent.
"You've run long enough, stray," one snarled.
Kuroka smirked through bloodied lips, claws extending.
"Ara ara… You really think you can capture me, nya?"
She lunged forward, Senjutsu flaring despite her injuries, desperate, brilliant, and cornered.
The night echoed with the sound of battle.
And far away, in the Gremory estate, Lucien's fists clenched at his sides.
The board had been set long before he ever touched it.
Now… Lucien wasn't just on the board anymore.
He was about to change how the game was played.